10 Minutes to Curtain
by impoeia
Summary: He tries not to admit he's as stuck as the clock. - "Some moments are nice, some are nicer, some are even worth writing about." - Charles Bukowski.
1. Chapter 1: Kaldur'ahm

**Author's Note: **First and foremost, I own nothing. As always, I'm just happy to play in someone else's sandbox.

Second, to those awesome readers still waiting for me to update my _Mockingbird series, _I'm hoping to have new chapters for you in 2020. Keep your fingers crossed that Darth Real Life won't push me back over the edge of the world. In the meantime, though, I needed a bit of a change of scenery, which is how this collection of vignettes happened. I do hope you guys enjoy.

Cheers! impoeia

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Fandom: Young Justice

**Prompt: 2:27 **

Kaldur's given up on sleep, but it's too early for training and too late for research, even by Batman's standards, so he's left with nothing to do but lie in the dark and ignore the flickers dancing at the edge of his conscious mind.

_(She always was just out of reach for him.) _

He wants to pull the blanket over his head, recreate that absolute dark that exists in-between the fields of stars, but the air's hot enough already.

_(She kept complaining how there wasn't enough moisturizer on the surface to keep her skin from flaking.) _

A flash of a smile, confident and eager. His hand contrasting with the bare skin of her waist. Blue eyes, full of regret, as they lock onto his best friend.

_("We wanted to tell you. Garth and I...")_

He tosses and turns, expecting the numbers to click, but every time he twists about, the face staring back is the same: 2:27.

Kaldur'ahm pulls the pillow over his head. The red of the numbers on the clock are as red as her hair and the thought is too pathetic, too fruitless even for this hour.

_("I love you.")_

He tries not to admit he's as stuck as the clock.


	2. Chapter 2: Felicity Smoak

Fandom: Arrow

* * *

**Prompt: Cats**

Alright, everyone gets it. Oliver Queen is hot. Like, sex on a stick, covered in chocolate sauce kind of hot. No one needs to tell her; she's seen him shirtless. Multiple times.

Which still doesn't explain how the man manages to attract women left and right and straight down the middle. She swears he pulls them out of thin air like every teenage boy's dream-magician's trick. Seriously, they need to redefine _deserted island_, because the amount of women he's managed to meet in those years in the middle of a jungle in the middle of the freaking ocean in the middle of fudging _nowhere _borders on eight-world-miracle worthy.

And maybe she's just the tiniest bit threatened, but what else is there to do when the guy who's her boss and a secret vigilante and sorta relies on her to save the world attracts Vogue-cover worthy femme fatals like the biggest dose of catnip on the market.

She may or may not have thrown a couple of pencils at his picture taped to the back of her office door in retaliation.

"Felicity, you know I can hear you, right?"

"Uhm." She checks the comms and…..yeah, there it is. Little green light signaling she's on for all to hear. "Right. Okay, so….Stopping in three, two, one. Don't die."


	3. Chapter 3: Huntress & Question

Fandom: Justice League Unlimited

Also, I know nothing of wines or fine dining.

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**Prompt: Cover**

"So what's good here?"

"Now _that_ is the question."

She gives him the unimpressed-eyes over the top of her menu. "You say that a lot, you know that?"

"Well, it is sort of my schtick."

They're getting looks, mostly from men trying to get an eye-full of the Huntress' long legs. He's getting a few stray glances as well, most of them of the narrow-eyed variety as the restaurant's patrons try to figure out how a schmuck like him landed a woman like her.

It's a question he still doesn't have an answer for.

"You do you know this doesn't count as a real date, right, Vic?"

"It counts as making the world a better place."

She does look lovely in a red dress that shows off curves as sharp as her wit; even the scowl she shoots his way is frighteningly attractive. The Huntress, in every sense of the word.

His navy suit, on the other hand, hasn't seen an iron since the last half-dozen times he dragged it out of his closet. And while he personally thinks the orange tie is a saving grace of fashion, he's pretty sure the maitre'd would've kicked them out over the matter of his mismatched socks peeking out from under his trouser legs, if Helena hadn't been hanging off his arm at the time, smoothing the ruffled waters in fluent italien.

Perhaps they should do this more often.

"Just so you know, I'm ordering the most expensive item on the menu."

Or maybe not.

He tilts his menu far enough back to see she's already placed hers to the side, fingers delicately grasping the wine glass as she takes a sip of the Nero d'Avola. "You don't even like urchin eggs. Besides, the food industries have been in league with the national ocean conservation groups since ninetee-_ow._"

She's kicked him in the shins. With 6-inch Louboutin's that could feed a family back in Hub City for two weeks. He's kinda flattered.

"Are you _trying _to blow our cover?" She has to lean in to hiss the words through a tight-lipped smile and the candlelight does wonderful things for the little shadows around her earlobes. Too bad candles have been a major part of the thermal-auricular therapy web designed to train the public being comfortable with literally stopping their ears with wax, therefore becoming deaf to the cries of an increasingly impoverished- "_Ow._" He's still flattered by those shoes.

She takes his hand from across the table, squeezing his fingers before lacing them together with hers. "Hey, pay attention why dontcha?" Her smile is a lot less teeth and a lot more warmth and as usual, he feels his frantic thoughts slow down and just be _still _at the sight of it. "I like my dates focusing on me."

"Thought this didn't count as a date."

"Anything is a date if you have enough fun."

His thoughts are back to frantic, trying to parse the implications of the statement even as he focuses on the growing glint of mischief in her blue eyes and the way one black strand curls at the edges of her uplifted lips. He is so far _gone _on this woman - goner than he ever was in his most drastic manic periods - and the thought should frighten any sense of self-preservation he has left in his body, but either as Huntress or Helena Burtinelli, scaring the living daylights out of him has never felt so good.

Then the little bell above the doors ring and his eyes slide right past Helena and to the main event. The LexCorp executive they've been stalking waltzes into the room with a blonde on either arm and a five-man security detail traveling in his wake.

"Looks like our fun just arrived."

Huntress disentangles their fingers to reach for her clutch, and he likes to think there's a brief flash of disappointment in her eyes before she rises from her chair. "Time for me to go powder my nose."

"I'll join you."

She gives him one of those looks - the kind that says she's trying to figure out if he's being funny or eccentric - and mutters something to the effect of, "You don't have a nose," but doesn't protest when he slips his arm through hers. His fingers are already clutching the aerosol in his blazer's pocket.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, the goon squad is whimpering for mercy at the Huntress's feet and the restaurant is a wreck.

For his part, Question has the answers he's come for from the LexCorp exec who, no doubt, will be in serious need of new employment once Lex finds out he spilled his guts after only a few well-placed threats. Overall, he considers the evening a success.

"Got what you wanted?" Huntress asks.

"It's a start." He pockets the little notebook with the scrawled intel, hands digging deep into the pockets of his trench coat. "But more answers usually lead to more questions."

"So we're done here." As usual, she ignores his crypticism in favor of the here and now. "Good, let's get outta here." She gives the goon pawing at her leg a good kick in the head. The combat boots she wears with her costume aren't quite as appealing as the Louboutin's, but they certainly get the job done. Overall, he's not exactly envious of the guy currently sporting her boot print on his forehead - the ones on his shins are much nicer.

Cape swinging behind her, Huntress stalks out of the restaurant, past the maitre'd cowering behind his little podium. He almost runs into her when she suddenly stops, swinging back around so fast he half expects an uppercut to the jaw - he's had dates end in worse ways.

Instead of a punch to the face, she sneaks one arm around his torso, snatching a bottle of wine from a table that somehow managed to avoid getting flipped or smashed. She jiggles the bottle before his blank face like a trophy. "I much prefer white to red with my dinner." To the maitre'd she casually calls out over one shoulder, "Put it on the JL tab. Oh, yeah, and the restaurant too, I guess."

J'onn is gonna _love _this one.


	4. Chapter 4: Dick Grayson

Fandom: Batman: Bad Blood

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**Prompt: Death **

"Despite her madness, she was his mother." The regret and sympathy in Alfred's voice is real, though Dick doesn't really think it's for Talia. Not directly, anyway. How do you mourn a woman you'd known mostly through the bruises she'd left behind on the two people who had loved her the most?

"Yeah." Dick steps to the window, watching father and son watching the rippling water and growing night. _It always starts with death. _"He really is part of the family now."


	5. Chapter 5: Artemis & Cheshire

Fandom: Young Justice

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**Prompt: Ears**

"_Jade_? What're you-"

"Mind putting the arrow down first, sis?" Her sister lounges across their coach, arms thrown over the back, deliberately open and unarmed, except for the eyebrow she cocks at Artemis like a glove thrown in challenge. "Don't really think this place could survive a smackdown between us." Jade gives the apartment a once-over. "Though I don't suppose a reason to renovate would hurt. What is _that_?"

"It's Wally's," she says, without bothering to look first. Anything that prompts that kind of response to their decor has to belong to Wally.

"Figures." Jade looks back at her, then deliberately down at the bow and arrow still

in Artemis' hands. "Thought you'd left _that_ behind?"

She had; _they _had. But one wrong creak from the floorboards in the middle of the night, and she hadn't thought, just reacted. "It's not easy, leaving the life. Just ask mom." She does put her weapons down, though, on the coffee table right next to where Jade has propped up her sneakers. "What do you want, Jade?"

"What? Can't I just drop by and check in on my little sis?"

"No." Artemis crosses her arms over her chest, uncomfortably aware of her bare feet and the flimsy protection of the shorts and top she sleeps in. Jade isn't dressed in her Cheshire costume, but even in jeans, crop-top and jacket, her sister isn't someone to take lightly. Her civilian clothes offer too many places to hide weapons. "Not without wanting something. So out with it Jade; it's late and I have a Vietnamese Lit class in the morning."

"Ugh." Jade knocks the back of her head against the couch cushions. "You are just no fun at all. Fine, I need a place to lay low for a while, okay?"

She thought it might be something like this, but the easy admission still catches Artemis off guard. Jade is generally as elusive as her callsign. "Then call dad," she fires back. "The League has plenty of hidey-holes for their pet assassins."

"It's not that simple." When Jade meets her eyes again, she's not smiling. "The League can't know."

"Jade….are you-" Artemis has to swallow against the sudden lump in her throat. She has the urge to take up her bow again, just to have something solid to hold onto and clutch against her chest. "Are you….._leaving _the League?"

"Don't be stupid." Jade's on her feet in an instant, pacing in the small gap between coffee table and couch, and Artemis can't help but reel back a little. Her sister suddenly reminds her of a cornered cat, and that image….it's not Jade.

"No one just leaves the League," Jade continues. "I just….need to take some time off. Take a sabbatical, and I need a place to stay for the duration. Someplace safe." She looks Artemis square in the eyes. "I need someone I can trust."

Artemis takes a deep, deep breath. Because despite everything - every fight, every abandonment - they are still sisters. Family. "Okay. Okay, I'll help. I have a friend who can arrange a safehouse for you." It's a good thing Nightwing is a nightowl; she knows he'll answer the phone, no matter how late the hour. "But if we're taking on the League, he - _I _\- will need to know what's going on."

She thinks of their father, and wonders if Jade finally wound up killing Sportsmaster. She doesn't know how that makes her feel, so she shoves the thought aside forcefully.

Jade, for her part, just goes very, very still. She's staring at her sneakers, arms crossed defensively over her chest and Artemis is caught off guard, again, by how un-_Jade-like_, her sister is acting. It's enough to make her step forward, hand outstretched to- she doesn't even know. Offer comfort, maybe? Hug her? They've never really been _that kind _of family.

"I'm pregnant."

The words are so totally _not _what she'd been expecting, that Artemis winds up walking into the coffee table. "Ow-_what_?"

"Holy shit!" Both their heads snap up. Wally, who'd staid behind as her backup, is practically hanging off the rails of the stairs. He's bare-chested, his hair is sticking up in every direction, and the shock in his blue eyes must mirror her own.

"_Waitwaitwaitwait_! Sorry; probably wasn't supposed to hear any of that, but-" He throws up his arms, then brings his hands down to run them through his hair, making his bed-head even worse. "You're _pregnant_? _How_? Like, how does that even _happen_?"

"I think you know _how_," Jade spits back, giving his boxers a once-over before eyeing Artemis. "Seriously? _This guy_?"

"Hey!"

"Stop," Artemis barks out. "The both of you. Wally, go call Nightwing. I'm gonna start the coffee. And you-" She doesn't even know how to end the sentence; how to say what she needs to, to her sister, to make all of this okay and _normal. _So she settles on _their _normal, which is all they ever really had, after all. "You owe me."

Jade shrugs, arms still crossed, but she tilts her head at Artemis with a knowing smirk. "I know. But what else is family for?"


	6. Chapter 6: Paula & Lawrence Crock

Fandom: Young Justice

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**Prompt: Haunted **

Paula's apartment has been empty for so long, that his presence is almost like a physical wall she slams into head-first.

"What do you want, Lawrence?" She might be the last person on earth to call him by his given name, and she clings to that privilege with stubborn tenacity. It's maybe the last advantage she has over the man.

"I got some questions, Paula." He's been waiting for her in the kitchen, idly sharpening one of the kitchen knives she left out to dry. "And I think you're the one with the answers."

"Get out." She leans forward as far as she can in her wheelchair, hands balled into fists atop her knees, hissing the words. "I don't care about your questions, or giving you answers. I just. Want to be. Left alone."

Ignoring her, Sportsmaster rises from his chair. He's left the mask off; there are fresh lines on his face, and he's nearing his sixties, but his powerful frame is still as graceful as ever. With a few short steps, he's towering over her. She hates that - she's vulnerable in so many ways now, and she hates that he exploits them without even thinking. One hand grasping the armrest of her wheelchair, his other slips out a phone from a pocket. Swiping his thumb over the screen, he turns the phone over to show her.

"Look familiar?"

She does a double-take, because….

There's two images on the phone's little screen; side-by-side, they're obviously surveillance shots, taken from a distance. A small part of her wonders if Jade took the photos; the rest of her is busy trying to process what she's seeing.

The right photo shows a young woman in costume. The image is blurry; the woman is moving, fists out to strike at a masked vigilante Paula doesn't recognize. The left shows the same woman at the docks. Maskless this time, Paula sees a hard face with dark eyes, a square jaw and black hair brushed tightly back from her forehead. But what she focuses on is the same thing that brought her ex-husband to her small apartment this night. In both pictures, the woman wears a costume in an obvious tiger motiv.

"That….It looks like my costume." The one she'd worn as Huntress; before she'd taken the fall and lost both legs and daughters to the life.

"Not quite," Sportsmaster says. "But close enough. Who is she, Paula?"

She almost laughs, but one look at his face and she sees he's deadly serious. "How should I know?"

"Because she's wearing a tiger costume. That's always been your family's thing."

"_A tiger lives at night; she is the approaching storm." _Paula can still hear her grandmother's voice; feel the withered finger trace the tiger's stripes across her cheeks. Old memories, from an older life, and it finally clicks what Lawrence has been asking her all this time. "You think _I trained_ _her_?"

This time, she does laugh. There's nothing funny about it, but she curls in on herself, arms wrapped tight around her midsection as the laughter racks her body. Sportsmaster draws back, as if she's slapped him. The tips of his ears go crimson, and it just makes her laugh all the harder, until she's close to sobbing.

"Y-you think I-I-"

"_Paula_."

It's like her name is a switch on his tongue; she goes from convulsed with laughter to sudden, eruptive fury. Her hands are hooked into his vest, dragging him back down until he's eye-level with her. He manages to brace both hands on the wheelchair's armrests, but it's a testament to his surprise that he doesn't fight her.

"I _left _the life," she snarls at him. "I had no choice, but I _left_. And the happiest day of my life was when Artemis told me she'd left, too. And now she's dead. She's _dead_, Lawrence. Our daughter is _dead_, because the life couldn't let her go and now you have _the gall _to ask if I _trained _some girl for the very thing that _killed my daughter_!" She screams it at him. Later, she will wonder about that; Lawrence "Crusher" Crock is not a man who tolerates being screamed at, or manhandled. But in that moment, he remains locked under the full brunt of her fury.

They stay like that for an eternity: him bent over her, she with her fists tight around his collar, head down and fighting the tears so hard she's shaking.

Slowly, he unwinds her fingers and straightens. "You're right. I was wrong to think you'd have any useful information about her."

He slips his phone back into his pocket and marches right past her, to the kitchen window and the fire escape. He'll be gone in seconds, lost in the shadows and the rooftops and she will be alone with her grief again. But he's never been able to leave a fight without scoring the winning shot. Arm braced on the window frame, he doesn't even turn to face her. "But you were wrong to think Artemis would ever leave the life. Once you're in, you're never out. I'll tell Jade to check in on you."


	7. Chapter 7: Wally West & Cheshire

Fandom: Young Justice

* * *

**Prompt: Park bench **

"Hey, watch i-" Wally grunts in pain when Cheshire slams him into the park bench. He grits his teeth as the wooden slats dig into his back. "Okay," he presses the words out from between clenched jaws. "I'm _trying _to keep a low profile here-"

"Now where's the fun in that?" A sai appears in Cheshire's hand and Wally goes cold.

With great deliberateness, he pushes the sai away from his cheek with a finger, careful not to touch the edge. "Okay, I was trying to be nice, seeing as you're my girlfriend's sister and all, but I can see we're just gonna skip to the ass-kicking part."

"My preference, as well."

Her boot smashes into the bench where his head was a second ago, but Cheshire's too good not to have seen that coming. She's turning already, using the bench as leverage now, and while Wally's two meters to the left, she's suddenly right next to him, grabbing for his shirt. He sidesteps and manages to catch one wrist, twisting until the sai drops from her fingers and he's got her hand pinned to her back.

"Not that this isn't a _great _trip down memory lane, but mind telling me _why _the League of Assassins is trying to kill me?"

"Not the League." Cheshire tilts her face just enough so he can see the wide stretch of the cat mask's smile. "Just me." And she slams the back of her head into his face.

"_OW!_ _Shit._" Wally staggers back, fingers pinching his nostrils shut in an effort to cut off the invariable nosebleed. "Was that _really _necessary?"

"Maybe not. But now you know."

"That you'll rob a guy in the park? Gotta say, Chesh, woulda thought that a little beneath you."

"That I can find you anywhere and at any time." And, okay, he really _is _trying to keep a low profile, because he sees it coming but still lets her grab two fistfuls of his shirt and pull him close. "And next time, I won't be holding back." Even playful, Cheshire's words have an underlying tone that feel like claws pressed against Wally's ribs. "So you better not be, either."

"Can't wait." He gives her his best KF smile, the one he reserves for the villains who've backed him into a corner and still think he's easy prey because he's _not _the Flash, but just some kid sidekick. It's stuck halfway between placating and challenge, and generally the last thing the bad guys sees before he knocks them out. "Got a time and place in mind for the joyous occasion?"

Surprisingly, Cheshire lets him go. She steps back until she's under the glow of the park light, beside the bench she first slammed him into and the shadows stretch the cat's smile even wider, until it looks big enough to devour him in one gulp. "Soon," she shoots back. "Once Artemis has come to her senses and gets an upgrade in the boytoy department. Then I'll be back, and you'll never see me coming."

"O-kay, _so_ many things that are wrong with that. I can-" His cell phone goes off. Wally grabs for it, and in the second he needs to check the caller ID and get it to his ear, Cheshire is gone.

"Hey, babe, what's-"

_"__Wally, where are you?"_ Artemis cuts across his greeting. _"You were supposed to be home half an hour ago."_ Uhhh, he knows _that _tone and if he doesn't want to get his second ass-kicking in one night, he had better start talking. Fast.

"Yeah, I know and I'm sorry about that, but you wouldn't believe who ran into….me….." His voice trails off as the realization slams into him like a hit from Captain Boomerang's boomerangs. "Holy-"

_"__What?__Wally, who did you run into?" _

"I think…..I think your sister just gave me the shovel talk."

The silence from the other end of the line is profound and….maybe a little surprised. _"You are so lucky I love you,"_ Artemis finally says. _"Otherwise, you'd be __so__dead."_


	8. Chapter 8: Red Arrow & Cheshire

Fandom: Young Justice

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**Prompt: Potatoes **

They're lying in the aftermath like two bomb survivors: dazed, bewildered and not quite sure if their ears are still working. Roy won't go as far as calling them scared, because neither one of them does _scared, _but...shocked, maybe? Yeah, shocked sounds about right.

"Listen," he says, because someone has to start and since he got them into this mess, he might as well try and salvage what he can. "It's not….I mean, you don't gotta _say _anything, or you don't have to say _that. _Obviously, if you wanna talk - I mean, I know we don't really _talk_-" He's losing the thread, fast.

"You know, for a guy who claims to hit the target every time, you're really off the mark right now."

He groans, rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair before sitting up in bed. "Tell me about it." Draping one arm over his bent knee, Roy stares at his clenched fist before finally looking at Jade.

She's got one arm draped over her stomach, the other palm cushioning her head. Dark eyes watch him from beneath a tangle of black hair; the sheet is draped over her hips. She looks comfortable, but at least Roy knows her body well-enough by now to distinguish the fine lines of tension in her shoulders and calves; the way her toes curl, as if already slipping into the sneakers thrown somewhere across their motel room's floor. She's perfectly still and ready to go and it's not what he wants at all.

"Look, what I'm trying to say is - I _like _you. I like this," he hurriedly gestures at the motel room. "I like us." A finger tipped at her, then his own chest.

She goes from looking at him to staring up at the cracked plaster of the motel's ceiling. Aside from a host of other things, they don't exactly do _romance _and _classy_, either.

"That's not what you said before."

"No," he admits and wonders how to navigate the minefield he's in now. He can't just say, _You're incredible, _or _I think you're brave and beautiful. _At least, he can't say those things outside of tangled sheets and the heat of the moment. She's already close to running and he's pretty sure he won't be far behind. So instead he settles on the truth, just not the _whole _truth: "But it's true."

She sighs. It's the kind of sound the elderly make when they hear the grandkids repeat the mistakes they themselves and their parents already committed; it's weary, exasperated and just a little bit fond.

"Why'd you have to go and ruin the mood like that?" She hits him with the pillow, and there's enough force behind it to be as much a threat as playful. Cheshire, in a nutshell. "We-_this-_it _works, _Roy. A couple a'punches, a few good one-liners and some fun afterwards. Everyone wins."

_Wash, rinse and repeat, _he thinks. He can't really remember when this started, doesn't even try to predict how long it will last, but if anything, he does know he doesn't want it to stop.

He can practically hear Ollie in his head, handing out advise in that awkward too-serious-trying-too-hard mentor-voice he gets when he remembers he needs to be the adult: "_Sex and love aren't always the same things, but it's easy to get the two mixed-up, Roy. Know what I mean?" _

_Yeah, Ollie. I think I do. _

So he changes tacts. One thing you learn when going solo: adapt quickly or die. One more pass of his hand over his face, then he's smirking at her, one eyebrow cocked in challenge. "So, is that your charming way of saying you like me, too?"

She knows what he's doing; deflection might as well be their callsign. But her lips quirk up and before he knows it, Jade has one hand around the elbow propping him up; her legs tangle his and suddenly they're rolling. She comes up on top.

"That's _not _what you said before." She leans close, so that her hair brushes past his shoulders and over the pillow.

He's still grinning, probably like a fool at this point, but he doesn't care. _This _he knows how to do. "I don't hear you denying it."

"You say 'potato'..." She leans in to take the kiss.


	9. Chapter 9: Damian Wayne

Fandom: Son of Batman

* * *

**Prompt: Promise**

They are waiting for him at the top.

Damian thrusts his right hand up first, braces the left with the broken wrist against a small ledge of ice and rock and lodges his left boot more firmly into the tight crevice. The leverage allows him to peek over the final outthrust of rock and see the lines of their boots disappearing into the snow.

He's scrabbling for purchase, trying to haul himself up that last half-meter, but neither his mother nor grandfather make a move to take his hand and pull him up the rest of the way.

They wait for him as the snow continues to drift down and the wind threatens to push them all over the edge again. No one moves forward, but they _wait_, patient as the mountains and by the time he's at the top, standing on shaking legs - but _standing _\- the snow reaches all the way to their calves.

His mother is the first to break the tableau. She sweeps her hood back, long hair snaking in the wind as she turns towards Ra's al Ghul. "I told you he could do it."

His grandfather doesn't smile, but he keeps his eyes fixed on Damian, acknowledging Talia's words with a nod. "I never expected anything less."

The words are like a string pulling him straight until he's looking into his grandfather's eyes. Ra's al Ghul gives another nod, then turns towards the waiting airplane. The squad of soldiers follow soundlessly in his wake.

When it's just him and his mother, Talia breaches the distance between them and pulls him in close, until he can smell her perfume and feel the heat of her body. Damian stays straight, still feeling that string connected to his spine and his grandfather's gaze, but allows himself to close his eyes against the burning cold.

"Just like him. Your father would be so proud of you."


	10. Chapter 10: Barbara & Dick

Fandom: Batman: The Killing Joke

I'm fudging with timelines here. I've read about different scenarios on how things end with Dick, Barbara and Bruce. This is basically me ignoring all of that and going with what I think might have happened after _Batman: The Killing Joke. _

* * *

**Prompt: Sex**

"Dick, what's the matter?"

"Nothing." He doesn't even look at her; just keeps his hands in his pockets and his face turned towards Alfred's carefully manicured roses. It's why Barbara knows he's lying. Dick can keep his cover, but when it comes to friends and family - to _her _\- he can't keep his emotions off his face.

"You sure about that?" Barbara tries for casual and hears the failure in her own voice. She doesn't want to do this, is still too raw to act like everything is normal ...But she's also never wanted things to be back to normal as badly as she does right now.

_We always want what we can't have. _

She sees the same rawness, the same _want _in Dick's eyes when he finally turns to face her. Invariably, his eyes drop to her wheelchair first, before sliding back up to her face. It's the first thing anyone looks at, these days, from her dad to her college friends. And to think she used to complain about guys staring at her chest instead of her face. Except Bruce, who doesn't really look at her at all anymore.

"What do you want me to say, Barb?"

She's relieved that he gives up the pretense first. It spares her the energy of pretending like everything's okay, without feeling as if she's lost at one more thing. So she fires back: "Geez, Dick, I don't know. How about, _Hey, how are you? Nice weather we're having. _Or maybe we can just skip to the end and we can talk about how mad you are at me for-"

"I'm not mad." She could strangle him for the placidity of his words, except the strain behind that forced calm makes her feel like a winner.

"Sure you're not. That's why you haven't said more than two words to me since I came out of the hospital."

"You don't _get it_, Barb!"

"Then explain it to me, _Dick._"

"You wanna do this?" His fists are balled at his sides, and his face is so tight, it threatens to crack. "Right here; right now? Fine," he spits. It's the most emotion Dick's shown in days and it's what she wanted - to break through the calm facade he's forced on himself - but he's got that look in his eyes. The one he gets on assignments, when he's about to make the hard calls and if she could, she'd kick his legs out from under him and stop whatever he's about to do, because she doesn't want more pain right now. But you couldn't be a Bat without veins of masochism running through your muscles.

"I get a call," he starts, and each word sounds like he's physically dragging it out of his throat, "from Alfred - not you, or Bruce, _Alfred _\- how you were attacked by the Joker, in the hospital, couldn't feel your _legs_ and all the way from Blüdhaven all I could think was how I wasn't there to protect you-"

"_Don't_ do that, Dick."

"-to protect the person I love-"

"That's not why this happened."

"And now you're telling me that after everything we went through - everything _he's _put us through - you've been in a relationship with _Bruce _this _whole time_."

"It was. _Just. Sex. _Dick. And it was _one _time. You _and _Bruce need to get that through your neanderthal hea-"

"No, Barbara, _you _need to understand that-" He presses his lips together, cuts the words off and just _looks at her. _Like it's the first time he really sees her and isn't sure he likes what he sees. It makes her want to look at her lap, like a little girl caught sneaking money from her mother's purse, and the sudden swamping of shame just makes her angrier.

"It's never _just sex _with someone you care about, Barb," Dick continues. "And you've been lying to yourself if you think otherwise."

"Dick..." She needs to say something. She doesn't know what, but she can tell when a fight has gone bad and this feels as bad as Bruce taking away her cowl and cape. Like she's losing another piece of _herself. _

"You know what the worst part is?" He turns his back on her again, stares at the roses. "I don't even get to be mad. I love you, Barb and you've been through hell and I just don't have the right to be mad at you. Not if I want to help you through this."

"And has it ever occurred to you," she spits, "that I don't _need _your support?"

"Yeah. Which also means I wouldn't have a reason to stick around here anymore."

She's too angry to cry. At least that's what Barbara tells herself when her eyes stay dry and the only pressure in her chest is that of broken ribs. It's better than admitting that she doesn't feel much at all.

"Then maybe you need to go back to Blüdhaven."

"Maybe I should." He turns and walks past her, shoulders set and eyes looking everywhere but at her. "Guess there wasn't much left for me to come back to anyways."


	11. Chapter 11: Bruce Wayne & Dick Grayson

Fandom: Batman Beyond

* * *

**Prompt: Telephone**

He really should've seen it coming.

The phone's been ringing more in the last month than it has in the last ten years. So why not _this _call? Everyone else still kicking has called: old friends; _older _mentors; lost loves. All wanting to confirm the rumors, that Batman is once more watching over Gotham.

So why not former partners? He really is getting old. Like he needs more proof.

_"__Is it true?"_

"Nice to hear from you, too." It's been his standard response thus far. Bruce settles into his most comfortable chair; might as well, it's going to be an uncomfortable conversation. "How are things in Blüdhaven?"

_"__Whatever happened to 'no more young partners'?"_

"Whatever happened to small talk?" Two can play this game and he's definitely been playing it longer.

A pause, then: _"How old is he? Sixteen? Seventeen? Guess I should be grateful you moved up all the way to high schoolers." _

The dig hurts more than it should. "_He _came to _me. _You _all_ did."

"_And did it ever occur to _you _to say '_No'_?" _

The click of a terminated conversation echoes loudly in the empty Batcave.


	12. Chapter 12: Damian Wayne

Fandom: Son of Batman

* * *

**Prompt: Temptation**

It's effeminate. Insipid. Impractical and downright ludicrous. More circus costume than battle armor and Grayson's wrong, he doesn't want it. The grandson of Ra's al Ghul would rather die than be caught wearing tights.

"Master Damian?" Alfred appears behind him, his reflection overlapping Damian's in the glass casing.

"This will need to be altered," he orders.

Damian doesn't need a costume to fight. Or a bird's name to fly. But he _is _supposed to stay close.

The mask fits the first time he tries it on.


	13. Chapter 13: Alfred Pennyworth & Batman

Fandom: Son of Batman, mentions of Batman: The Lazarus Syndrome

Because Talia totally roofied Bruce, and no one seems to want to talk about it. Least of all Batman. Also, taking great creative liberties with the Batman timelines.

* * *

**Prompt: Weakness **

The Batcomputer goes blank and they are left in the uncomfortable silence that follows.

Alfred stares at his tea, observing Bruce from the peripheries. For his part, Bruce keeps his focus on the screen, as if still staring down Ra's al Ghul's visage, twisted by the pain and insanity of the Lazarus Pit.

Alfred lets the silence stretch, enjoying the tea, before carefully replacing the china cup on the silver tray. "You didn't know." It's both question and statement.

Bruce's expression doesn't change. "No."

Alfred tilts his head slightly to better assess Bruce's mood. While clipped, he has the feeling that this is not the first time tonight Bruce had to admit to that fact. "Ten years ago," Alfred muses. "Around the time of the Lazarus Pit incident, if I recall correctly." He purposefully avoids mentioning the days preceding that particular showdown with Ra's al Ghul; of nights wondering if _this time _Bruce really was gone for good and if he'd finally have to put Bruce's name down next to his parents on their gravestone. Some wounds, time never heals. Their very presence in the Batcave is testimony to that.

Bruce leans back in his chair. His expression is still guarded, but his gaze is distant: not fixed on the here and now, but somewhere - some years - far off. "That's right."

"Yes." Alfred tries to do this gently, to prod at the mystery without opening further wounds, but where Batman is concerned, the wounds often go deeper than the man. "As I recall, you mentioned some of the more…._potent _herbs Miss Talia al Ghul employed in your recovery."

Bruce's lips press into a thin line and while he remains reclined in his chair, his body becomes rigid. "Alfred-"

"Naturally, you _were_ gravely injured at the time, so I suppose some memory loss is to be expected." He meets Bruce's gaze unflinchingly, daring him to contradict Alfred with the truth.

Bruce holds his gaze, even goes so far as to open his mouth to say ...something. But instead he turns back to the Batcomputer and with a flick of a finger, the screen jumps back to life. "That was then. And right now, we have to figure out Deadshot's next move."

"Bruce-" Alfred's voice is soft; he reaches out to touch Bruce's shoulder, ignoring the rigidity of the costume's kevlar weave, and the body beneath.

"It's done, Alfred," Bruce cuts him off. "It was a moment of weakness and I won't allow it to happen again."

His hand slips off of Bruce's shoulder. Quietly gathering the tea set, Alfred gives a short nod. "As you say, Master Bruce."


	14. Chapter 14: Green Canary & Spitfire

**Author's Note:** So, this is the last of my little vignettes. It was a lot of fun writing for this fandom and I just wanted to say thanks to anyone who took the time to read or comment. Coming out of a major writer's slump, the support meant a lot to me. So thank you, dear readers.

I might add more vignettes in the future, if inspiration strikes. If anyone has a suggestion or prompt, feel free to PM me. I can't make promises, but I'll give it my best.

Fandom: Young Justice

* * *

**Prompt: Winners and Losers**

"Ollie." Dinah's hand slides across the bar to cover his fingers, where they are curled around the glass. The empty glass - at least he can say that much for himself.

"Hey, pretty bird." He tries giving her a smile, but he can barely feel his facial muscles move. He's been pretty numb since receiving the news. "Thanks for coming."

"Thanks for calling."

She's in her civilian clothes, blond hair trailing over a lilac jacket and white shirt. In plain jeans and sneakers, Dinah Lance is still the most beautiful thing he's ever laid eyes on and far too classy for a dive bar like this.

He can't keep his eyes on her; they slide back to where their fingers cross over the empty shot glass. "I'm sorry, Dinah. I'm so-"

"Ollie, don't. You called; that's the important part." She gently pries the glass from his fingers, leaving him to stare at his empty hands clenched on the bar.

"I know. I know. It's just…." He hides his face in his hands, breathing in deeply and hating the thick fumes of cheap alcohol and stale cigarettes that settle over his tongue. He tries to clear his throat and what comes out is stuck somewhere between a chuckle and a sob. "She's _alive_, Dinah. Artemis is alive and when they told me-" His fingers slide over his face and into his hair; his fingernails scrape over his scalp. Years of sobriety press down on him like a giant's hand trying to grind his face into the scarred wood of the bar. "All I could think of was getting drunk and never coming up for air."

"But you didn't." Dinah runs her fingers up his wrist and elbow, until they're sliding over his hands, still clutching hunks of his hair. "You called me instead." She gently disentangles his fingers, only to tangle them all up with her own again.

"Yeah. Called to drag you down into my pity party, when everyone else is celebrating having Artemis ba-_ck._" His voice cracks on the last word and he has to close his eyes to keep the room from closing in on him. Only, when he does that, all he can see is the memorial they held for Artemis, and him and Roy - the _other _Roy - sitting in those pews. "I should be happy, Dinah. She's _alive_, so why in God's name can't I get around wanting a bottle of whiskey instead?"

She takes him into her arms, then: wraps them around his shoulders and lets him settle his head against her neck. It's awkward - he's still sitting on that creaky, plastic barstool and she's wedged against him and the bar's edge. But she smells like flowers and asphalt and leather and it's better than any drink going down his throat to soothe his demons.

"You didn't fail, Ollie."

He can't bring himself to hug her back. Not yet. "Sure feels like it, though."

* * *

"Wally."

His hand slides into hers without prompting: squeezing her fingers, giving them a little shake.

"It's gonna be okay, babe."

Artemis gives him a smile that's more nervous than reassured, but Wally takes it anyways. It's taken them most of a day to get this far, and he's willing to coax her those last few steps, no matter how long it takes. So they continue to just stand out in the hallway, hands linked, staring down that door.

He's not keeping track of time. Instead he focuses on the calluses on her hand, the grooves cut into the skin by the bowstring and the warmth of her palm. He rubs his thumb over her pulsepoint, and goes over all the ways he's lucky to have her back in his life. _Their _life - once everything's done and the Reach is officially kicked off of Earth, that's what they're getting back to.

"Hey." She shakes his hand a little in turn, bringing Wally out of his thoughts. When he looks at her, Artemis' smile is blinding. "Thanks."

He smiles back. "Always."

Artemis barely has time to knock on her mother's apartment door before Jade opens it. "Took you long enough, sis. Thought you'd gone off and gotten yourself killed again." There's a grin on Jade's lips that immediately dies when she glances at Wally.

"Artemis." Paula Crock's voice floats up from the apartment. Her voice is rough and once Wally catches sight of her, he can see that she's been crying.

"Mom." Artemis pushes past Jade, who stays by the door. As soon as she's in reach, Paula pulls her daughter into a bone-crushing hug that is fuelled in equal parts relief and desperation.

"I thought I'd lost you." Paula presses the words into her daughter's hair.

"Not a chance. You're not getting rid of me that easily, Mom."

There are tears running down Paula's cheeks, and judging by her shuddering frame, Artemis is crying as well, biting back the sobs. But when Wally makes to step into the apartment, Jade's arm shoots out to block the entrance.

From beneath her elbow, Wally sees Paula's eyes staring back at him. Despite the tears, they are cold and hard. And Wally gets it. This might be a family reunion, but he's no longer considered family. He'd been Paula's rock; now he's the guy who lied to her face about her daughter's death.

Jade catches his gaze, and beneath the hardened facade, there might be a glimmer of sympathy. But she still wordlessly closes the door on him, leaving him out in the hallway alone.

Wally takes a step back, hands shoved deep into his jeans pockets. He might as well get comfortable - he has a feeling he'll be spending a lot of time on this side of the door.


End file.
